


Guilty Pleasure

by nightlyRain



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave is drunk, Idk you decide, M/M, also they're roommates and JOHN'S the one crushing instead of Dave like in every goddamn fanfic, and he throws up a couple times so it's gross, cause it is lmao, did i mention it's unrequited, is it a non-sburb au?, is it post-sburb?, not me thats who, or maybe they're just both crushing and too lame to fess up, who knowsss?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlyRain/pseuds/nightlyRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave isn't like his brother when he's drunk. His brother is abusive and short-tempered and just terrible when he's drunk, but when Dave is drunk, he's mostly just goofier, and less poised, and perfect in a way that you can't describe properly without getting all fuddled up in the idea that you just love him so much.</p><p>And Drunk Dave will tell you he loves you, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Pleasure

Your name is John Egbert, and you are currently walking your very drunk roommate home from the wildest and, for you, least pleasant party you've ever been to.

Dave is stumbling, and leaning on you for support. You're careful to guide him at a pace he can keep up with, but not too slowly, in case there's something or someone unpleasant lingering around nearby.

Dave mumbles various nonsensical jokes to you, giggling at each one, as you walk. It brings a smile to your face, though you'd never admit it to Dave when he's sober.

When you get home, Dave turns from you, and vomits on the bushes while you open the door, gently taking his arm and leading him inside to get cleaned up.

You sit him down on the edge of the bathtub, next to the toilet, which you open, in case he needs to vomit again. He does, and you pat his back and pet his hair comfortingly until he's only retching, and nothing's coming out. When he finishes retching, he sits back up, and you close and flush the toilet. He starts to mumble something as you get the wipes, but you don't understand him, so you simply shush him, and tell him to hold still while you clean his face. He obliges, and you carefully wipe away all the gross dribble from his mouth.

As you turn to throw away the wipe, he starts mumbling again. You know what he's saying, but you deny that he's saying it; you know it's not true, and it's not late enough to let him tell you that yet. So you shush him again, and guide him to the sink, instructing him to wash his hands and face. He does. You tell him to brush and floss his teeth, and he does. You finish by telling him to rinse his mouth with mouthwash, which he does. Then you wet a soft washcloth, and carefully wash away the extra water, toothpaste, mouthwash, and drool he got around his mouth in this process.

"John," he starts, and you shush him again. It's too early, still. He quiets down, and you lead him to his bedroom. You've only been in here before when he's been drunk, which has been often enough that you know where everything is, and he lets you keep a spare pair of pj's there, because both of you know how he hates to be alone even more when he's drunk. You tell him to sit down on his bed, and he does. He starts to bounce, grinning, and you know it's because he knows he'll get to say what he wants to soon. You ignore that fact, and turn to his dresser, taking out his favourite pj's. You turn to him to hand them over, and oh god, he's already stripping. You avert your eyes, and he takes his pj's with a slurred "thank'ya." You turn, and take out your own pj's from their place in his drawer. You can feel his eyes on you. He likes to watch, which you would mind less if he wouldn't stare. It makes you feel like sober Dave would want to watch, which you know isn't true. You quickly change, not bothering with your underwear; you usually don't, anyways, but it makes you feel more secure thinking about it.

Once dressed, you turn to him, and he grins. He's still wearing his stupid shades, and you walk over, taking them off for him and setting them on his nightstand. He instinctively looks down at first, so you just give his head a reassuring pet, and sit next to him.

"John?"

You decide you're ready now.

"Yes, Dave?"

"I love you," he murmurs, turning to hug you and give you the tiniest peck on the cheek. You smile despite yourself. You have to admit, this is your favourite thing about drunk Dave.

"I love you too, Dave." You lean into the hug a little, but refrain from hugging back. You're always worried he'll remember this part when he wakes up, so you try to make it seem as platonic as you can. It always fails, but he never remembers, either. Or he says he doesn't.

"Joooohn," he says, leaning in a little closer. "I loooove yooooou," he repeats.

"I love you too, you drunk dork."

"Will you kiss me?" he asks.

"Well," you start, hesitantly taking his arms off you, and standing up. He grins up at you, knowing you won't say no. You don't know how he always knows what you're going to do when he's drunk, but he does.

You walk around to the other side of his bed. "You're still wearing your shoes and socks," you tell him, seeing him go to lay down. He sits back up and obediently takes his shoes and socks off. You, on the other hand, took your shoes off at the door, so you just take off your socks, before climbing into his bed, above the covers. Dave climbs in underneath, and gives you that damn face. You give in immediately, you can't help it, and get under the covers with him, knowing you'll hate yourself in the morning for it when you wake up sweating like a pig. You take off your glasses, and lean over him to set them on his nightstand, next to his shades.

"John," he starts. You know what he's going to say before he says it. "You never answered my question."

"What question?" You tease, but you know.

He knows you know, you know he does, but he reminds you anyways. "Will you kiss me?"

In answer, you lean in, and press your lips together. His hands go automatically to your hair, like always, and, as usual, his tongue finds its way into your mouth. He still tastes minty from brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth out. You know you probably just taste like cookies and chocolate, and you can feel him relishing in it.

You quickly pull away. "Good night, Dave," you tell him, softly. He seems disappointed, but doesn't ask you to kiss him again.

"Good night, John. I do love you."

"I love you too."


End file.
